


Unspoken

by hufflepufftuff



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Amnesia, Auror Harry Potter, Co-workers, Deception, Department of Mysteries, Distrust, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Firsts, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Memory Loss, Memory Magic, Ministry of Magic Employee Draco Malfoy, Ministry of Magic Employee Hermione Granger, Pensieves, Post-Hogwarts, Prophecies, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Secrets, Unspeakable Draco Malfoy, Unspeakable Hermione Granger
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:55:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22929085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hufflepufftuff/pseuds/hufflepufftuff
Summary: The woman who awoke in the dark hallways of the Ministry of Magic is not Ms. Hermione Jane Granger. Granger is gone.Granger may have ceased to exist but she did not intend to disappear without answers. The key as to what happened to Ms. Granger lies in the Department of Mysteries. This new version of Hermione will have to stumble her way through a world she cannot remember in a job filled with secrets and figure out if she can trust the handsome blond who is the only person to realize something's gone wrong.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Lavender Brown/Ron Weasley
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The inspiration for this storyline was taken from The Rook by Daniel O’Malley. Some passages will be very similar in the beginning to mimic the same circumstances.

The cool dampness of the hallway stuck her cheek to the subway tile as she gingerly placed her head against the wall to steady herself. It was almost like breathing in fog, the sticky cold freezing her lungs from the inside out. She squinted into the gloom, the only illumination from some distant prickets. The dim light just reached her, her limbs aching and a sharp oily burning in the back of her throat that made the humid chill somehow worse. Her hand trembled, the piece of parchment clenched between her fingers shaking as she reread the words again.

_To the new owner of this body,_

_My name is Hermione Jane Granger, though that is your name now. Or at least, it is the name of the body in which you now reside. While I could regale you as to the reasoning behind my father’s choice of name, I suppose that most likely doesn’t interest you just now. What you do need to know is that your occupancy in this body has left you in a dire situation._

_I apologize for leaving you under the current circumstances, but as you are now in possession of what was once my body and I am not, I can help you no further than the means I have set in place for you._

_You must be aware that you are in danger. As you appear to have survived whatever it was that wiped my existence from the world, I pray you prove to be capable enough to get through this. I hope that something of my acumen has remained behind for you in any case. I do not know where you are or what time you were ‘born’ into this world; I could only prepare so much for this moment._

_You have no reason to trust me other than assuming I don’t wish harm on my former body. There is a coin under the wax of the seal that you broke when opening this scroll. Once you are clear of the bodies, as soon as you are sure no one is watching, touch the coin. When you arrive, I promise to explain at length._ _I would apologize, but I am proud of the life I have lived. I would not change a moment, not even knowing my choices have led me to bequeathing this life to you._

_If you need slightly more proof than this letter, the scar on the inside of your left forearm was carved there by a mad woman hellbent on breaking me to gain secrets. That woman was a member of a group whose goal was genocide of those they deemed to be impure - mudbloods. Me, and now you. Does the word mean anything to you? Well, for all I know, they could have succeeded at last, for I am gone and now you remain._

_Stay safe._ _  
_  
_Sincerely, Me_

It was clear to her that whomever this Hermione Granger was had left her in a hell of a position. 

Bodies was an understatement.

Whatever had happened here in this cold hallway was brutal - even in the pale light someone would see the dark liquid seeping across the tile underneath lumps of fabric and flesh. The tang of coppery blood was thick and she almost choked on it, bringing her arm up to cover her face despite the agony involved in moving her limbs. She took a single step away from the carnage, then another, picking her way through the bodies, her shoes squeaking as they left behind glistening prints. Anxious, uncertain, and scared, she glanced behind her one more time before turning a corner where the candles burned more brightly.

Another hallway stretched in front of her, this one as black as before but blessedly free of any corpses and dismembered body parts. There were no windows or doors she could see. It was the silence more than anything that disquieted her. One had to assume that such a fight would have resulted in a fair amount of noise and screams. And yet… there was no one here.

Wherever here was.

What sort of a life had Granger led that had resulted in that… mess? What sort of danger was she in? The letter was disturbingly vague. She apprehensively pulled up the sleeve of her left arm and stared at the mutilated letters.

**MUDBLOOD**

The letters were large and a fleshy white, the scarring old. It did not hold any significant meaning for her and she wasn’t sure she wanted it to. The word had a taint of nastiness about it, but as it literally had the word “mud” in it, wouldn’t it?

No, no, no. She did not want this life that Hermione Jane Granger was so proud of.

She continued on, slowly due to the agony coursing through her body, through the empty corridor and stopped. The eerie silence felt like a shadow nipping at her heels. A glance down at the blob of wax still attached to the scroll in her hand showed a glint of metal just beneath as promised. She did not want to trust this Granger as the woman clearly had poor decision making skills. But it seemed there was a little choice left to her. If Granger didn’t know where this body had been left behind, well, she couldn’t expect to either. 

With a bitter pursing of her lips, she dug her fingernails into the red wax and grasped the gold coin. The cold metal warmed beneath her thumb followed by a hard tug just behind her navel. With a loud gasp, she was torn away in a blur of candlelight and darkness.

_\-------_

She arrived in such a state of shock that despite keeping her feet and landing somewhat solidly on the carpet, she immediately backed into a tufted ottoman behind her and toppled clean over. Fucking hell. Fresh bruises now painfully formed on top of her older ones as she groaned and rolled onto her back.

The room around her was well lit, almost harsh on her eyes - someone had left lamps on overhead, but there was an odd light in the form of a small jar that appeared to hold a bright blue flame. It sat on a smart wooden desk tucked neatly into a corner. Everything about this room was smart, in point of fact. The couch and ottoman, which she resignedly pulled herself up on, were a matching set, cool neutral tones that complimented the rest of the wooden furniture that had been set up in this little studio.

 _Neat freak,_ she thought with a sniff, noting how the couch lined up perfectly with the carpet with the wall.

She started to hunt around, not exactly eager for the explanation promised by this Granger woman but certainly desirous for answers as to what the hell had happened to her and how the hell she had gotten here. As she moved, there was a sharp poke on the outside of one thigh, right in the center of a particularly painful bruise. She cursed, digging deeply into the pockets of what appeared to be some type of insanely impractical outerwear cloak and withdrew a long, ornate stick of… wood. 

A wand.

She wasn’t sure how she knew it was a wand. Wands implied magic. Sorcery. And yet even though the thought of magic should have roused an iota of incredulity, she felt sure that magic had had something - everything - to do with tonight.

She kept digging, but her inspection of the rest of the pockets revealed nothing further, not even a piece of a lint. Granger didn't have a wallet? Where did Granger keep her ID or her money? Maybe she'd accidentally left a bag or purse behind in that dark hallway. Shit. Eyeing the wand, she tapped it a couple of times against her palm, almost expecting something to happen but it remained… dormant? What was she expecting to happen? The wand was thrown haphazardly onto the couch cushions and a further search of the apartment continued.

The most obvious place for another letter was the desk, but surprisingly all it held were a few scrolls of blank parchment paper and ink quills - this Granger woman was really into the old style of stationary - and the weird jar of blue fire that she purposefully ignored. The living room was small with little room for more than the chairs and the desk, mostly due to a large and lonely looking fireplace along the wall adjacent to the curtained windows. Something about the fireplace struck her as odd - nothing on the mantle, no wood or tools - but as there wasn't any sort of paper to be seen, she moved on. The little kitchenette had nothing on the counters other than a bowl of apples, some containers marked flour, sugar, and so on. The fridge shelves were bare save a few eggs, a half empty carafe of milk, and a loaf of bread. What had this woman lived on? Air? No dirty dishes in the sink, no take out boxes in the bin. Granger had promised her an explanation, damn it all! Growing increasingly crabby, she stalked to the closed door to what she assumed was the bedroom.

As the door swung open to reveal an orderly bed, nightstand, and a number of bookshelves, something fluffy and orange launched itself out of the corner directly at her.

She cried out, landing on her back again for the umpth time in who knew how many hours. Winded, eyes tearing up from the pain, she swatted back against the sharp claws that gouged repeatedly into the folds of the cloak. “Would you please just stop?!” she shouted at the furry monstrosity, who upon hearing her speak disengaged and moved instead a few feet back. The poor, tired, beaten down woman on the floor cursed heatedly into the carpet once again before lifting her head up to look at the animal.

A large ginger cat sat upright, squashed face and bright eyes studying the human before him. Both creatures maintained eye contact, the woman afraid to break away; it was though she was being measured up and primarily found wanting. But the cat finally meowed resignedly, almost grumpily, and padded back away into the bedroom, glancing over his shoulder as if it wanted to indicate that she was supposed to follow.

She did, eventually, once she managed to pull herself back upright. The cat jumped onto the bed and pawed at a picture frame on the little wooden stand just off the side. The photo was three young people, teenagers, all smiling brightly and dressed in what appeared to be some sort of boarding school uniform. Two boys - one black haired kid with glasses and a sting bean of a redhead - with a bushy-haired but boring looking girl sandwiched in between. They were laughing, almost like the photo moved. Her new animal companion mewled impatiently and held out a paw, tapping the frame again. Turning it over, she saw that the back of the frame was bulging and in undoing the little latches that held the frame together, she found a thick folded piece of parchment. As she pulled it out, two words scrawled themselves into existence across the top in the same precise handwriting as before.

_To You_

As she unfolded it, she sat on the edge of the bed, causing the cat to move to the opposite end where he sat, waiting and watching again, a feline stoic. The handwriting inside definitely matched the first letter, the words slowly coming into existence as though she were watching them being written.

_You appear to have safely arrived at the apartment and gotten Crookshanks to allow you into the bedroom. To be honest, Crookshanks has been one of the things I’ve been most worried about while preparing for this eventuality. I had no idea if he truly understood when I explained to him what was going to happen, that I was no longer going to be around and that you would be... taking over. I flatter myself that he did as he has never been particularly clingy and as of late he dislikes being anywhere other than my lap when I home. Do not let him fool you into thinking he is simply a pet. This old man is cleverer than many people I have met. I do hope you will win his approval, and that in turn he wins your heart as he did mine. He particularly enjoys chin scratches and a good salmon dinner if you are inclined to treat him._

The squashed visage was still staring at her. “Crookshanks, is it?” she asked, one eyebrow raised. He sneezed and turned his head away with a sniff.

_I need to apologize for the vagueness of my first letter. Given the information I had, I knew it was imperative that I get you here in the apartment first and foremost before any further explanation could take place. But you are safe within the strongest wards I could possibly cast on this place and so now I will do my best to explain._

_As to how I knew that you would be sitting in my home, reading this letter: I am not psychic. I do not know the future, and to tell the truth, up until some years ago I was absolutely certain that divination was pure poppycock. Even knowing that prophecies did exist in my world - our world - the first warning I was given I passed off as more fear mongering by an old professor of mine whose favorite pastime was predicting the death of her students. But then I was given another prophecy, and another, different words from different people but always the same outcome. You would find yourself alone, in the dark, surrounded by bodies, new but broken. I would no longer exist. I could not outrun my ill-fated destiny. (I am in no small part bitter about it. After all, who wants to learn that their persona is going to be cleanly wiped away like chalk from a board with no opportunity of stopping it, but then the added rub of it coming from that batty old twig… well, if you ever meet her, you’ll understand.)_

_Are you wondering why I believed in what is seen by many as spurious fortune telling? I mentioned that divination is real. My best friend in the entire universe was plagued with similar prophecies that caused him heartbreak and pain beyond the understanding of most. He came through the other side a stronger person, but not without great personal loss._

_You may ask why I didn’t fight harder to save my future if I knew what was coming, to find a means of saving myself. It was clear in his situation that there was no way to circumvent the foretold outcome. I think with time it will become clear to you that I am - was - in a similar situation. I have no idea who is behind this, what I have done other than exist and try to be the best possible version of myself. I can guess, but I have no proof. I don’t actually know what will happen to me. All I know is this:_

  * _I will be attacked in the future, and that despite my disdain for fighting, that I - or that is to say you most likely - will win._


  * _Everything that makes me “me” will be gone. My personality. The important parts of my life as I remember them. They cannot be recovered._


  * _You will be “broken,” though I have yet to distinguish in what way. One prophecy spoke of “renewal” and “binding” but I was so overcome with yet another prophecy that I am afraid I hyperventilated through most of the words and was unable to retrieve the memory._



_Honestly, I was unsure for a time whether you would ever actually read this letter. I wrote several copies of the first, placing them in different cloaks, jackets, and purses, hoping that one of the letters would be on you when the event finally occurred. I hid this letter because, in the event that something did happen to you and you did not make it safely back to my apartment, well, I didn’t want to upset Harry and Ron once they went through my things. I placed an additional safeguard so that no one would read it unless opened by our body._

_I have so much to share with you. However. I must make a second apology. I toyed with the idea of setting up another life for you, a chance to leave my life behind and be your own person in a new country with a new name. I certainly have the means and money to do so. But I have already overcome so many obstacles in my life - I have fought for my friends, my family, for my very life so many times over - and I will be damned if I let some faceless entity think for a moment that they have succeeded in ridding themselves of Hermione Granger. I am not giving you a choice. I have set up everything you could possibly need to resume my life in my place. It will not be easy. I have had to make several choices over the last year since the prophecies began to trickle in and it means you will essentially be battling it alone._

_I ask you, I beg of you, please ensure my friends and family are safe. Do not let my hard work disappear. I need you to be Hermione Jane Granger because I no longer can. All I can hope is that with time you’ll appreciate why I have done this. My life as it is now is a good, comfortable life, aforementioned hardships aside. You have my apartment, my money, and my name._

She stopped reading. There was a slight smudging of the ink here from what was, on closer inspection, pale water stains in the parchment.

Oh. Granger had cried while writing this letter.

But as heart wrenching as the plea was, she was resentful that Hermione Granger, who clearly understood how burdensome the lack of choice was, would turn around and do the same to her! How generous, leaving behind her things for her. After all, it wasn't as though they were ever going to meet, that Granger would be witness to the inconveniences she had foisted upon the future owner of her body. Comfortable life or not, Granger had had no right to to ask anything of her. She was only here because Granger had failed. She must have scowled outwardly because there was a low rumble from the end of the bed and she looked up to see Crookshanks glaring at her, bushy tail swishing in warning from side to side.

“I may be lacking in memories,” she snapped at the cat, “But that doesn’t mean I’m lacking in feelings of my own, you know! You have no idea. I have no memories. I know how to cook an egg but I don't remember ever eating one! Do I like coffee? Have I been to France? SHE is the reason I am like... this! And as wonderful as you may think your previous owner was, she was a right bitch to even pretend to ask for my help. I have no means of refusing.” The tail continued to wave back and forth. Mollified only a little by her outburst of emotion, she turned back to the rest of the letter.

_And one other thing. You also have, I presume because the prophecies didn’t leave me to believe otherwise, my magic. Yes, I said magic . You are a witch. Congratulations! I was eleven years old when I first found out that the odd things I did, the reasons I was bullied constantly as a weirdo in school, was magic. My parents were even more shocked than I was, given they have no magical abilities whatsoever. You probably (hopefully) have found my wand by now. Wands are essential for witches and wizards to channel their magic as I learned at Hogwarts, a boarding school for magic that I attended until, well, other things happened. I won’t get into that part of my life yet. What’s important for you to figure out right now is how much control you have your magic. I studied spells, potions, history, the works after I learned I was a witch and I’m praying that some of that knowledge stayed with you because you do not have fifteen years to relearn everything I know about magic. Because the next thing you will need to do to survive in my life involves venturing into your new world and it will absolutely require your wand._

_Ah. There it is._ Magic, as she had thought, made the most sense somehow. Was she surprised? She read that last paragraph over three times. Oh, she knew deep down, under all the bruising, that Hermione Granger was not the type of person to lie. Not about this. Granger had already been so meticulous about everything else so far that there was no point in pausing the game for a round of charades. In the end, this was all about magic from the start.

Without pause, she marched back into the living room and stared at the wand she had thrown onto the couch. Just behind her, Crookshanks pattered quietly into the room and hopped up on the ottoman as though to watch. The wand just lay there, innocuous as anything. With a deep breath, she leaned over, wrapped her fingers around the handle, and stood back up. The engravings she had neglected to look at earlier were beautiful, wrapping up around the handle through to the main shaft of the wand. It felt light in her hand, not too heavy, but not dainty. Still, though, nothing happened. She glanced at Crookshanks expectantly, who simply kept his eyes on the wand, waiting.

She tapped it against her palm again. Nothing.

She waved it through the air.

Nothing.

The back of her mind felt fuzzy, burning like an onset headache. The woman rolled the wand a few times between her fingers and brought it back up in front of her. A word floated just at the surface like a dull echo. “ _Accio_ ,” she whispered as she pointed at the little jar of blues flames. The jar shuddered but slowly it bumped its way along the desktop and floated the remaining distance to land in her free hand. And she remembered. Well, that is to say she didn't remember. But she knew. She knew about Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She knew what a Boggart was, and how to brew a Pepperup Potion. She’d always known - it was as though the shock of the evening had just buried it all momentarily.. 

She carried the wand and the jar carefully back to the bedroom, where she set the jar on the nightstand next to the frame and picked up the letter again.

_If you did retain all my knowledge, I’m glad. I do not like to brag, but I was always better at magic than most. Once you have determined that you are comfortable enough to handle the wand - and there are plenty of books about magic on the bookshelves if you are so inclined to review them - this is what you need to do next…_

With a small sense of peace she did not remember ever feeling before, Hermione Jane Granger tucked her wand behind her ear and curled back up on the bed to finish the letter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to COVID-19 and the ever wonderous experience of being a full-time working mom with two young kids while under lockdown, this year has been CRAZY. That said, an update, finally! I hope to update this more regularly from now on as I have had many months to go over this storyline in my head.
> 
> ALSO - if you have read the first chapter already, please go back and read it over again. I made some small alterations to the first chapter that just change the flavor of the situation. Hope you enjoy!

Hermione Jane Granger stared into the bathroom mirror. The boring, bushy-haired girl from the photo frame stared back at her, face older and hair somehow even more untamed than it had been then. There were some nice things about her new body - her skin seemed clear and her eyes were an intriguing dark shade of brown. Her teeth were nice and straight and white - probably due to the amount of dental hygiene equipment in the bathroom. (Were her parents dentists or something? Who needed _that_ much floss?) But her frame was rather slumped, accentuating her shortness, as though the old Granger had spent way too much time hunched over a desk.

She tried pushing her shoulders back to see if that gave her any more height, but she winced as all the bruises from the night before screamed at her in protest. There was a particularly garish bruise along her cheek bone, yellow and purple against the tan of her skin tone. She knew that a salve of murtlap essence would help heal that along but hadn’t found any in the apartment yet. For now, Hermione cast quick a glamour charm on the more visible bruising until the face that reflected back at her didn’t look as though it’d been through a pub fight. 

Magic was convenient. She may not remember attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Whatevery but the lessons her previous self had hammered into their brain had definitely stuck.

She felt a great deal of satisfaction in pulling her hair up into a somewhat more controlled bun with the simple flick of the wrist and opening the wardrobe doors before she even reached them. If she wasn’t so wound up about what she was about to do, Hermione would have enjoyed using her “new” powers much more. 

Per the letter, Hermione was about to head to Gringotts, the Wizarding Bank of London and retrieve a set of further instructions and magical items that Granger, as she kept thinking of her previous self, had not dared to keep inside the apartment. The goal, the letter had pressed, was to get in and out as quickly as possible. This meant leveraging her name and her position within wizarding society - still not explained though Granger kept implying she was some kind of big wig - to grab the goods and get home. 

“I am Hermione Granger. My name is Hermione Granger.” she said aloud as she perused her clothing options in the wardrobe. She had no idea how Granger had talked. Was she formal? Authoritative? The bland black robes and skirts, with the freshly pressed white button shirts shouted _PRUDE._ Okay, so there were some nice maroon cardigans and a pair of black heels that didn’t look too bad but surely there was something in here that could make a stronger impression on the goblin staff. 

Rifling through, Hermione finally dug out a pair of black slacks, one of the button down blouses with slightly billowy sleeves that looked like it hadn’t been worn before and the heels. Throw a robe over that and she should look professional enough to be taken seriously. She had to play the part of Granger today, after all, not Hermione.

No one could know she lost her memories.

“What do you think? Do I look like a Hermione Jane Granger, ready to take the wizarding world by storm?” she announced to Crookshanks. The orange tabby had been keeping vigil during this whole preparation from his spot on the bed. He met her gaze for several moments and then gave what she took to be an approving swish of his tail. Well, that was some relief. She scratched under his chin and sure enough, the fluffy monster closed his eyes in pleasure and rubbed ever so slightly against the palm of her hand. Hermione smiled. “Glad to have you with me. Makes me feel a little more brave. Thank you.”

All that was left now was to take the Floo directly to Gringotts. Granger had explained that typically one would take a Floo into an establishment like the Leaky Cauldron then make their way through Diagon Alley to the bank. As Hermione didn’t remember the way, that wasn’t really an option. However, and this was very little known amongst the wizarding community, the goblins had one single fireplace connected to the Floo Network that they used for clients who had paid for its use to get in and out of the bank with a certain level of discretion. It had been installed in recent years and Granger had paid handsomely for it for this very reason. 

_You shouldn’t encounter anyone other than the goblins when entering this way. They insisted this entrance was highly private, an extremely exclusive perk that you will likely only be using once._

Hermione grabbed the little purple purse that had been tucked away in the bedside table as well as the wand and placed herself in front of the pristine fireplace in the main room. This time she noticed the little pot of sparkling powder and smiled to herself.

There were going to be so many new things to experience.

\------

 _I never want to experience_ that _again._

Hermione coughed out a mouthful of ash she had unexpectedly breathed in as the green flames had whisked her away faster than she could have anticipated. She braced herself with one arm against the white marble walls of what she could only presume was Gringotts’ private waiting room and gasped for a breath of air. What a vile way to travel! Never again. She was going to learn the regular way to Gringotts even if she got lost in Diagon Alley ten times over. 

“Ah, Ms. Granger.” a raspy voice intoned behind her.

She sucked in another quick breathe before turning and settling herself up on her heels, shoulders back. _Calm. Calm. You’re Hermione Jane Granger,_ the witch reminded herself. _There is no one here to see you or judge you other than this goblin and… a non-goblin._ A wizard. 

Shit.

“Good morning,” she replied, smiling gently over at the unexpected man.

The man was about her age, she guessed (realizing that she didn’t know her own age), and stood straight backed and confidant in what she could only assume was a luxury cut black wizarding suit, the velvet tails just floating inches above the floor and his glossy leather shoes that had nary a scuff on them. His skin was pale, his hair almost platinum, but it was the eyes that struck her and sent a thrill of panic down her spine. The silver irises stared at her appraisingly, smile not returned, a hint of a frown lingering on his lips. Hermione tried not to panic about whether or not she was in some kind of mortal danger. This was a _bank_ , for Godric’s sake. 

He was tall, his athletic frame easily more than a foot higher than hers, and certainly more than a few feet taller than the squat green goblin hovering at his side with a jeweler’s glass affixed against one eye. 

“Ms. Granger, we were not expecting you this morning.” the goblin intoned, a slight frown to match his client’s. 

“My apologies, but I wasn’t aware an appointment was needed to have access to my vaults. I thought that use of this Floo entry was to permit someone such as myself access at any time I wished?” Well, she didn’t think that, but Granger hadn’t said anything about an appointment in her letters so presumptions would have to do.

The frown went a little deeper. “Well, certainly, yes, but as you can see, Mr. Malfoy has arrived slightly before you this morning. I must ask that you please wait here until I can summon another to attend to your needs. Mr. Malfoy, I’ll return shortly with your cart, if you could please wait a moment as well?”

He nodded and the goblin disappeared through an arched doorway without waiting to see if _she_ was okay with it. She was most certainly not _,_ not with the devastatingly handsome man with the viper like eyes watching her as she tried to adopt a stance that seemed Granger-ish. They both waited in silence for some little time until he drawled, “Confident this morning, are we Granger?”

Hermione flinched, both at the implication that her posture was out of the norm as she had feared and at the tone of his voice in the way he used her surname. 

They must know each other.

Double shit.

“Do you really need to ask?” she shot back, a little more firmly than she had intended. Damnit, what had the goblin called him? “Why are you even here, Mr. Malfoy?”

He barked out a laugh, turning so he could watch her more clearly as he leaned against a marble bench. “ _Mr. Malfoy_ , is it? How formal, _Ms. Granger._ And I’m not sure it’s any of your business. You certainly aren’t going to tell me why you are here. It’s always questions with you.”

A flush crept up her neck and Hermione hoped beyond hope that her glamour spell would keep a lid on it. He was right. She wasn’t about to tell him what she was here for. Hell, _she_ didn’t really know what she was here for. 

“I apologize.” she sighed. 

The words must have surprised him; he stood up straighter and stared at her. “You… what?”

“I apologize. I spoke out of turn. I’m simply displeased by the wait.” That seems like a plausible excuse. It was still early in the morning (she was pretty sure today was a Saturday) and she _was_ thrown off by having to wait in a room with an unknown man when her predecessor had warned her to get her things and Floo home because of the unspecified dangers lurking about, potentially trying to kill her. 

“I…" The man was gobsmacked. "I... I accept your apology.” He kept staring at her but remained silent after that point. Malfoy’s eyebrows were knitted together slightly in a perplexed fashion and when his goblin returned to summon him through the enchanted archway, he still gave another glance over his shoulder at her person.

Within a minute, a goblin named Fulcrump came to claim her and lead her through the entryway as well. The magic in the archway tingled as she walked under, something like a magical metal detector. Not that she could remember ever having gone through one of those, either. So many places and things, like items out of a textbook, danced around in her mind, both magic and “muggle.” 

With a “If you please, Ms. Granger,” Hermione followed Fulcrump into a battered old cart and tried not to gawk as it sped quickly underground on an equally battered rail track. It seemed like no time at all until Fulcrump was halting the cart and grumpily opening the side door to admit her out onto a cut stone platform. The vault he opened was not at all what she had expected to see - while she knew how many sickles made a galleon, it was a whole other thing to see the piles and piles of gold awaiting her. Granger was right - _she was rich._ Straightening her back, she walked forward, gathered some galleons into her purse and looked around. Nothing here but coins. The items must be in the second vault Granger had mentioned.

“I’d like to be taken to my other vault as well, please.” she told Fulcrump as she headed back to the cart. He paused, squinting at her darkly but eventually nodded when she made no effort to repeat herself and whisked them away even deeper into the caverns. The vault they pulled up in front of was smaller but the door had no lock. She hesitated, uncertain, but Fulcrump took no notice as he stepped forward and ran a finger down the length of the iron door. 

There was no gold here. Just two large briefcases of brown leather that looked like it might be dragonhide and nothing else. The first was astoundingly heavy with the sound of bells as she wiggled into the small opening of the purple purse that Granger had promised had an extending charm on it. It took a moment but she was eventually able to get the case in and settled against a corner. Something fragile was in that briefcase but she wasn’t sure what. The second was almost as heavy and she got it in the purse as well and, feeling slightly more anxious than she had while waiting in the private waiting room, asked Fulcrump to take her back, post haste.  
  
\-------

Hermione stared at the two briefcases on the couch, tapping the wand over and over on her thigh as she braced herself to open them. She had made it back through the Floo without any more non-goblin encounters. It had been harder getting them out of the purple purse than it had been to put them in but she had them in her possession now.

The answers.

Something nudged her hard in the small of her back and she jumped forward only to see that Crookshanks had snuck up on her and was waiting, impatiently, on the ottomon. He mewled loudly, as though to say, _Get on with it, woman!_

“Right, right. I can do this. I can do this…”

Her fingers reached out and undid the clasp on the heavier of the two cases. The inside was lined with red silk with a lion motif embossed in a slightly darker red tone. Along the top portion were dozens of pockets, each cradling a glass vial that swirled with silvery substance. Each one was corked with wax and the wax had been stamped with a number. There were at least a dozen, possibly more. Some of the vials clinked like bells as she opened the case to its full position and considered the large stone disk housed in the bottom half.

A pensieve.

“You clever witch, Granger…” she breathed, running her thumb along the runes of the pensieve. She may have lost her memories, but Granger had obviously thought to save some. It would be like watching a movie of someone else’s life - well, it was someone else’s life - but depending on which memories she had chosen, this would help Hermione continue the charade of being Granger at least for some time more. 

The second case was filled with scrolls numbered in Granger’s handwriting, starting with #3 and so on and so on. There was also a thick purple planner with dozens of colorful tabs with names and events scribbled on each. She could see “Hogwarts,” “Harry,” “Ron,” on the first few with some others like “Ministry” and “DoM” further along. Every page was filled with a cramped handwriting - Granger had clearly tried to impart as much knowledge as possible in this notebook before her passing. Hermione pulled this out first, thumbed through it, admiring the small photographs and charts within before settling it in her lap and grabbing the scroll with the #3 by the wax seal.

  
  


_Hello again._

_Congratulations on making it through your first foray into Wizarding London. I hope that the cost of the private Floo was worth it._

_By now you may have opened the second briefcase, but in case you have not, I have selected and preserved some of what I consider my most important memories for you. Some of them are from my childhood, important moments in my life that you may need to maintain your identity as Hermione Jane Granger. But most of them are actually moments from my attempts to figure who had done this to us - erased me and put you into considerable danger. I have no idea if the memories will disappear once I am gone - this is not really an area I had too much time to do research in. I thought of it very close to the end, you see. Hopefully, what is here may suffice._

_The purple planner is the second best thing I thought I should leave you. I’ve made notes about different places I have been, people I have interacted with, especially with regards my current employment within the Ministry of Magic._

_Ah, yes, you work at the Department of Mysteries as an Unspeakable. Congratulations again! Your position pays considerably well and your position is that of Under Secretary of Mysteries for Grants and Research Administration. You are privy to many, many secrets because of your position as overseer of all the projects currently conducted by DoM. (Please do take to calling it “dom” as no one is quite so asinine to keep stating the department by the full name while at work.) Secrets I have outlined here for you so that when you return to work - yes, you are going into work - you will not be caught unaware._

_Most of your work is reviewing the processes and procedures of research projects and ensuring they comply with the standards and laws set by the Wizengomet and the International Statute of Wizards, though you occasionally step in to assist with financial disbursement and new project approvals. I am unsure as to the status of your administrative assistant - my last left a few months ago and I do not know if or when I’ll find time to replace him for you. If not, I recommend that it should be one of the first things you do once you get into the swing of things - Secretary Painswick is hopelessly idealistic and tends to pile a number of ridiculous project proposals on your desk on an almost daily basis._

_You should not need to worry about running into any close acquaintances while at work. The Department of Mysteries is only accessible to Unspeakables and the Minister of Magic. Especially if you keep the normal hours of 6am-10pm, you are unlikely to run into anyone in the lobby area you would be expected to know on a deeper level. Even so, if you have time, if it is a weekend when you are reading this, I recommend skipping straight to the back of the planner and reading the portions on your job first._

_I cannot state enough how much danger you are still likely to be in despite having made it this far. Stay at home or at work as much as possible - the culprits I think are likely to be behind this type of attack cannot strike at you in those locations. “We” aren’t much of a social butterfly anyway._

_Stay safe._

_Sincerely, Me_


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> COVID-19 continues to make short work of my brain function. I got stuck on a chapter for awhile and actually changed it to Chapter 4 and wrote this addition instead. There will be more chapters written in this fashion but likely not for a few more. I do not usually write in present tense so this was a small challenge. I hope it reads as though one is in the memory, observing.
> 
> I don't have the full form of the story in my mind so I am writing as I go along. I could potentially use a beta so if you are interested, please comment and let me know.

**_VIAL 1_ **

_Inky swirls ripple upwards forming into a row of quaint houses and shops. Witches and wizards of every age are bustling about, laughter and merriment the mood of the hour as some sort of festival seems to be underway. A breeze is passing down the street, rolling crisp autumn leaves against stone cobbles on ahead of its path. Faded and brown, an oak leaf sticks to the stocks of someone waiting just outside a large window filled with large glass jars of colorful sweets. Warm light pours through the glass and helps brighten the street and the face of the woman waiting._

_It’s Hermione Granger._

_Her cheeks are flushed from the chill even though she’s wrapped up in a thick maroon and gold scarf that keeps her bushy mane in check along with a knobbly knit hat. Hands in pockets, she waits until a bell tinkles and the doors to the candy shop open wide to let out more people into the crowded streets._

_“Sorry for making you wait, ‘Mione.” a deep voice echoes and she turns to look at a black haired young man who is grinning apologetically. He carries a number of bags on one hand and holds the hand of a youthful, red-haired witch in the other. Another ginger appears behind those two, towering over the group and sniffling awkwardly against the sudden reintroduction of the cold to his person._

_“Not a problem, Harry.” Granger says, the same odd reflective echo affecting her voice, grinning back at her friends._

_They fall into step together, Harry and his sweetheart in the middle as they talk over their latest purchases. The group wanders a while, stopping at small stalls that have settled in the gaps between the buildings, admiring small magical trinkets and jewelry. A small child runs past with a steaming pasty in his mittens and the tall red-head grumbles darkly._

_“When does the Feast start again?” He hunches his shoulders and stares wistfully after the pasty._

_Granger rolls her eyes, “Not for another hour Ron. It’s only six. Hogsmeade started this tradition of the Halloween Festival after the war, and McGonagonnal has since set the Feast later in the evening so all the students get a chance to experience the festival and shop for the holidays.”_

_“You say that bit about the festival and the war_ _every_ _year.”_

_“You ask about the Feast every year, too. Plus I’m sure you just filled up on the samples that Mr. Flume puts out if the chocolate by your mouth is any indication.”_

_There is a small chill in the air that isn’t the frosty autumn evening._

_Ron surreptitiously wipes at his mouth with the sleeve of his coat._

_A moment passes before the red-headed woman clears her throat and says, “I heard Professor Trelawney set up a booth this year and is doing group readings.” The other three immediately groan in protest, and she grabs onto Harry’s arms endearingly with her big brown eyes pleading. “Oh, come on, just in good fun. She’s taking donations for St. Mungo’s, surely that’s worth it?”_

_“You are asking us to_ _pay_ _to listen to her drivel?” Granger asks in horror._

_“It’s a donation, Hermione.”_

_“Ginny, we can just make a donation to St. Mungo’s and skip the fear mongering fraud.” Granger points out, and Ron nods vigorously from the other side of the group, their momentary tiff forgotten. Harry, perhaps feeling he has support in the moment, puts a loving arm around his girlfriend’s shoulder and suggests, “Not this year, Gin-”_

_There is a cold gleam in the younger woman’s eyes that stops him short. “You and Ron made us wait for over an hour in Spintwitches Sporting Needs looking at broomsticks -”_

_“What do you mean,_ _us_ _?” protests Granger, “You were in there with them the whole hour!”_

_“- and neither of you need any more equipment anyway, you could do with putting some of the gold all of you were awarded after the war to a good use, and this is the only stop I’ve asked for all day.” She pulls away from Harry and crosses her arms._

_Harry looks stricken while Granger and Ron spare a glance for each other. It becomes clear that Ginny is going to have her way and a chastened Harry accompanies his girlfriend down the road while Granger walks with Ron behind the pair. The sky has gone completely black, clear skies twinkling with starlight as the little group weaves their way around the other festival goers._

_“Harry folded pretty quickly tonight.” Granger says, a raised eyebrow at Ron._

_“I swear she sounds more and more like mum. Good luck to Harry, I say.” he mutters under his breath, peeking quickly at his sister to be sure she does not hear him. “Whatever, as long as we aren’t late to the Feast.”_

_Some more slightly uncomfortable silence. The group rounds a bend in the road and a castle blooms out of the darkness in the distance. The village begins to fade away into a worn path that is lined with more stalls and tents._

_Ron nudges a rock on the path with his shoe as they continue towards a garish marquee nearer to the castle gates. “So. Um. How’s the new job?”_

_“Lots of paperwork,” sighs Granger, “Painswick brings a new batch of… well, I can’t tell you about it, but it’s every day right as I’m trying to leave. I think I might need an assistant if this keeps up.”_

_“Sounds boring to me. Er, I mean, you like it though?”_

_“I think so. It’s better than going nowhere in Magical Law Enforcement.” she admits a bit sullenly._

_Ron nods sagely. “They were wasting you, ‘Mione. S’pose it must have helped that you are chums with the Minister of Magic.”_

_“Yes, Shacklebolt basically made this job for me, I just have to figure out how I fit in with the rest. Anyway, I cannot talk about work now, you know that. So, um, how is living with George?”_

_The lanky man stiffens but Granger’s eyes are overly bright, as though hoping to hear something positive about her question._

_“You know, ‘Mione, if you want this whole we-can-still-be-friends thing to work, let’s just… agree not to talk about some things.” His tone is dull within the echo chamber that is the memory._

_Granger flinches and bites her lip. “I didn’t, I mean, I don’t - “_

_He sighs. “It’s fine. George and I are fine. Better than when we lived at the Burrow together, at least. We almost there yet?”_

_Ron stretches his neck to look around for any other course of discussion, almost running into Harry and Ginny as they stop outside a vibrantly purple canopy, a variety of crystals holding down the cloth siding in the grass lawn. Strong perfume wafts out of the opening and a theatrical voice calls hurriedly out to them. “You are eaaaaarly, my dears, one moment while I prepare my inner eye…”_

_A dubious look over his shoulder, Harry sighs and holds Ginny’s hand a little tighter as to reinforce his spirit whatever they are about to experience. Granger’s expression is incredulous. They wait, the sound of clinking glass audible inside the tent._

_“Come on, Draco, you don’t want to have your palm read?” says a high voice behind them._

_All four friends suddenly tense together, different expressions blooming on each of their faces. Harry looks put upon. Ginny glances at her boyfriend in worry. The bored blankness on Ron’s face is immediately replaced with an ugly sneer. Granger is resigned, as though she expects nothing more than the evening to continue to worsen._

_“I have no interest in my future other than what I make of it myself.” responds a young man behind the group. A familiar blond is with a gang of similarly aged cohorts, bundled against the autumn air and laden with their own brown paper packages and bags. “There is also a wait, let’s move on.”_

_Granger appears to catch the man’s eyes for a moment, but Ron is already speaking before the other group is out of ear shot. “Malfoy willing to slum it with the rest of us regulars out here this year, huh?”_

_“We are hardly regulars,” Ginny points out, literally pointing at some kind of scar on Harry’s forehead._

_“Still, I thought he was still hiding at mummy and daddy’s all these years later.” the ginger scoffs, glaring at the back of the wizard who is making his way back towards the village._

_“He’s not.” Harry says, and the other three turn to look at him expectantly. He sighs, uncomfortable and explains, “He’s finishing a residence at St. Mungo’s. Has been there a couple years now. It’s not talked about widely, but Shacklebolt told me about it some time ago because Malfoy had to be vouched for before they’d let him into the program.”_

_“That sod is a_ _Healer_ _?” sputters Ron._

_“That is not an easy program to get into, though,” says Granger surprised, “You have to have your N.E.W.T.S. in Potions, Transfiguration, Charms, Arithma-”_

_“We_ _know_ _, ‘Mione,” scoffs Ron, “But Draco Ferret Malfoy a bloody Healer? Merlin’s saggy tits, that’s the last person on earth I’d want treating me.”_

_“Ronald! Language!” Granger cries, outraged._

_Harry attempts to intercede as Ron bristles. “Look, guys, can we just not do_ _this_ _for one evening-”_

_The faux dreamy voice interrupts them._

_“Come in…. Come in, my children. I have awaited your arrival all evening…”_

_Ginny immediately disappears between the beaded curtains so as not to give anyone a chance of even thinking about bowing out of the situation. Harry grimaces and follows her shortly after. Still fuming, Ron stomps past Granger after his best friend, and she pauses only briefly, squeezing her eyes together before stepping in._

_The inner section of the marquee is cramped, a large round table and tufted stools taking up most of the room. A brazier burning the sickly sweet smell from early emits smoke in the corner; the space is hazy and the smell of sherry mixes with the perfume. A crystal ball sits in the middle of the table and reflects what little light is available from the brazier. A thin older woman in large spectacles sits at the back of the tent, beckoning with even thinner fingers to the four friends who shuffle themselves awkwardly onto the spindly stools. Granger picks the stool farthest from Ron, which is the closest to whom one can only presume is Professor Trelawney. She’s draped in multiple scarves, strings of beads, her hair is a rats nest of feathers and herbs._

_“It was most important that you come here this evening. I knew, of course, that you would. The orb has spoken to me of the dangers that are soon to befall you aaaaaall.”_

_A giggle from Ginny broke through the quiet and Trelawney slaps her hands down onto the table in response, causing them all to jump back slightly in their seats. She rocks back and forth, arms rigid, her eyes rolling up into skull as she intones, “The crystal has shown me your futuuuuure! A dark storm is brewing in your hearts - sorrow, pain, betrayal, and death. A trifecta of misfortune awaits!”_

_“You just named four things, you nasty little…” The words are barely audible in the memory as Granger hisses through her teeth._

_“The storm will descend upon you and yours! Your families, your homes, doomed to the darkness that seeks to consume you. Trust no one! Not even your loved ones! Love is but a bitter means to a terrible ending…”_

_Ginny white knuckles the table, pale in the dim light and no longer smiling. Harry sees the color drain from his girlfriend’s face and grabs her up out of the chair, dragging her to the entrance without a spare glance back at Trelawney, who has not noticed her audience has just halved._

_“The crystal never lies - the fog shall lift and your world will be -”_

_“Well, that’s enough for me. I’m out.” Ron says, stool scraping as he too makes to leave._

_As he exits the tent, the curtain of beads clinks and Trelawney has tuned into her one remaining victim. Granger lifts herself up as well, shuffling her scarf around her as she navigates away from Trelawney, “Do not forget the promised donation… the basket...”_

_“Yes, yes, but only for St. Mungo’s.” says Granger contemptuously, digging around in her purse and withdrawing some silver coins, “You really are such a sha-”_

_Trelawney reaches out and grabs the young woman’s wrist. Granger looks back at her in shock and disgust. A hard shake of her arm does not dislodge the older professor, whose nails begin to dig into the fabric of Granger’s jacket. Trelawney is staring past her, face slack, eyes unfocused. Cursing her captor, Granger begins yanking her hand, but stills when the so-called seer begins to speak in a dark, raspy tone unlike her earlier dreamy voice._

“They will come for her in the deep. In the darkness… She uncovers their lies and they will come for her. She threatens the foundation of magic and they will come for her. And though she will rise, she will fall. All will be forgotten, all will be lost. They will come for you in the deep. They will come for you in the darkness… you will be lost. Lost… Lost…”

_The death grip on her wrist slackens and Granger half falls out of the tent in her rush to get outside. Her heavy breathing rings in and out, her expression unsure but equally unimpressed. The memory blurs as the young woman takes her bearings outside in the evening air and it isn’t for some moments until the images clears up and Harry can be heard beseeching Ginny nearby._

_“The evening isn’t ruined. There is still the Feast and a walk around the grounds, just like I promised-”_

_Ginny is in tears, her pale face now red and blotchy. Her brother lingers nearby, failing in an attempt at being nonchalant. Harry has eyes only for his love, his hands on her cheeks, as the red-headed woman sobs, “I know I shouldn’t take her seriously, Harry, but did you hear what she said? It was awful, just_ _awful_ _, Harry. I know you said we shouldn’t play with prophecy and I shouldn't have insisted, but I thought it would be all good fun but now I just want to go home…”_

_“No, no, I will not let that charlatan ruin tonight!” he asserts. The man is already on his knees before her and rummaging furiously through his coat pockets. “I wanted to do this by the lake, but... Love will always, always prevail, and I will always love you Ginevra Molly Weasley. Always.”_

_A box with a shiny gold ring appears open in his hands and Ginny cries more. Ron whoops and pounds Harry on the back with both hands over and over as his sister reaffirms her own love and Granger watches in shock as the tents and castle fade back into dark swirls of ink._


End file.
